In My Hand
by QueenOfTheDream
Summary: 1873, Paris. Sesshomaru is a painter. When a series of misfortunes befalls him, he happens to visit a theatre in search of reprieve from his grief. There, he espies Kagome, a foreign ballet dancer who manages to catch his usually discriminatory eye. This is a tale of how a solitary man gains inspiration and lives a life he never thought or wished he'd have. Rating may change.
1. The Boulevard Is Not That Bad

A/N: This is my very first fic! So I'd appreciate some R&R.

This fic is based very loosely upon the life of Edgar Degas (with quite a few artistic liberties taken. hehe ^^;). Also, the story was inspired by the song Tiny Dancer by Elton John, so the title and chapters are mostly going to be lyrics from the song.

I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.

Now, on with the show!  
~~~~~~

Chapter 1: The Boulevard Is Not That Bad

It was a rainy, dreary Parisian day in 1874. Perfect weather to match the artist's dim mood. A carriage carrying the artist in question turned down a cobbled street. The rhythmic sound of the rain melded with the uneven din of the carriage wheels rolling over the cobblestones and provided background music accompanying the theme of the artist's day. He pushed aside the window curtain to view the buildings along the narrow Parisian street being splattered with gritty, dirty water as his carriage sped down the lane. He adjusted the narrow ribbon necktie at his throat as the buildings passed by.

Retreating into the dark gloom of the carriage interior, the artist solemnly looked at his hands - the long, alabaster fingers, the broad palms, the well-manicured fingernails. He listened to the steady clomping of the horse's hooves upon the road, the sloshing of the carriage wheels through the water-logged streets, and, if he strained, the quiet pitter-patter of the rain upon the roof of his transport. All of these mundane, monotonous sounds served to further disenchant the artist.

A loud clap of thunder punctuated his thoughts. He looked once more out the window and saw pendulous black rain clouds approaching on the horizon. They seemed to enunciate the gravity of his situation. In an attempt to prevent the further dark clouding of his mind, the artist once again drew back into his shelter and again looked at his hands - such utile and able appendages. Despite his deteriorating eyesight, what he saw was perfectly clear.

He saw the end of an era.

The artist could feel his carriage coming to a slow stop. He quickly brushed the seemingly incandescent silver hair out of his eyes before preparing to exit the vehicle. When the side door opened, he stepped out under the umbrella that his driver and manservant held for him. They had stopped in front of a large, regally pillared building. He turned and viewed the road over which he had just traversed and saw an almost identical (were it but for the gigantic size) carriage rapidly approaching. As the second driver pulled up, the artist took the umbrella from his man and quietly commanded that he fetch the proprietor of the establishment.

The manservant shortly reappeared with a short, squat little old man shuffling behind, an old umbrella with rusted and broken spokes in his small hand. At an almost imperceptible hand motion by the artist, who was now standing like a black and white pillar in the washed-out rue, the second carriage driver began unloading the cargo in his carriage, which was packed into several large wooden trunks.

The short, bald proprietor fidgeted in anticipation, for upon seeing the astounding quality of the trunks being removed from the carriage, he could see that the contents encased were, without a doubt, valuable. He then directed his attention to the solitary artist, who was standing stoically underneath the black umbrella he held in his hand. The little man tilted his head skyward and looked down his long nose so as to eye the stranger (more importantly, potential client) from his well-dressed feet up to his face, where, with a singular nervous twitch of his grey mustache, he saw the face of a man ready to go into battle. The tall artist's honey-chestnut eyes glared down at him with an unnameable fierceness.

Clearing his throat, the fat manager addressed the artist. "Good afternoon, Monsieur. I am the proprietor of this most noble establishment, as per requested. How may I serve you today, sir?" He finished with a bow and a flourish and looked expectantly at the handsome stranger before him.

The artist calmly stepped forward and replied in a deep baritone, "I have come to sell my wares. Am I correct in assuming that this is the proper location to do so?"

The little manager let out a wheezing chuckle and exclaimed with a look of great humor, "My, a man of such obvious wealth as yourself must have no need of visiting such an auction house!" He let out a rolling belly laugh and slapped his leg with a fat, short-fingered hand.

At this, the artist piercingly glared at the old man, who audibly gulped and fidgeted under the imposing stranger's cold stare.

"Ahem. My deepest apologies, sir. It was indeed not my intent to offend. If you would but give me your name, your man and I can begin an inventory of the possessions you wish to sell at auction."

The artist turned, for he had heard a steady noise approaching. A smaller, less elaborately decorated carriage drove up and stopped crassly next to his own, which was now splattered with dirty water and bits of gravel. At this obvious slight, the artist gave a barely visible sigh of exasperation.

Upon seeing the carriage occupant, of shorter stature and the same silver hair, step out onto the cobblestones, the tall artist turned his head away with a look of contempt, and stated a single thing to the waiting man.

"Sesshomaru."


	2. Frozen on the Ladder of my Life

A/N: This is my first fic, so I'd appreciate some reviews. :D

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with quite a few artistic liberties taken ^^;). Also, the story was inspired by the song _Tiny Dancer_ by Elton John, so the title and most of the chapters' titles will be lyrics from the song.

I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.

Now, on with the show!  
~~~~~

_The artist turned, for he had heard a steady noise approaching. A smaller, less elaborately decorated carriage drove up and stopped crassly next to his own, which was now splattered with dirty water and bits of gravel. At this obvious slight, the artist gave a barely visible sigh of exasperation._

_Upon seeing the carriage occupant, of shorter stature and the same silver hair, step out onto the cobblestones, the tall artist turned his head away with a look of contempt, and stated a single thing to the waiting man._

_"Sesshomaru."_

_~~~~~_

The next day, Sesshomaru, accompanied by his man, the proprietor, and the other carriage passenger, who happened to be his younger brother, made his way back to the auction house. It was a balmy, overcast day, and the skies hung low with a promise of rain later in the day.

Sesshomaru shared a carriage with his brother, Inuyasha, who was disinterestedly staring out the window and idly tapping his fingers on the wall, the strumming raising Sesshomaru's level of already-high agitation.

After several moments of Sesshomaru practically staring holes into Inuyasha's temples, the younger sibling finally turned to face his brother, his pale citrine, almost jaundiced, eyes meeting Sesshomaru's warm honey chestnut ones.

"So, brother. Once you get the money from our old man's shit, you gonna spot me a few francs? I have some business to take care of, you know?" stated Inuyasha haughtily.

Sesshomaru visibly stiffened, and his eyes turned hard and narrowed with disbelief and anger.

"Inuyasha, did it ever occur to you, you wretched creature, that your gambling habit is what got us in this predicament? Did you think for one moment that I would be selling the worldly possessions and estate of our late and great father for my amusement? If, on his death-bed, father had not entreated me to spare your pathetic life and watch over you, I would have left you, penniless on the street, game for the pimps and loan sharks out for your blood. I dare say that you will finally have to get up and make something of yourself, for neither mine nor father's bank accounts can support your gambling any longer after this day."

Inuyasha's eyes narrowed and he sneered at his older brother, blowing a lock of silver hair out of his eye before exclaiming indignantly, "Sesshomaru, I'm only asking for a few francs, here! Just enough to pay for a small wager I lost last night. You've got to have at least that much. Just small change is all I ask for. I can come up with the rest... somehow."

"You try my patience, brother," ground out Sesshomaru as he refrained from wringing his moronic brother's neck.  
"Not only am I selling Father's art collections and estate, but also my own personal collection. The only things I have now to my name are a few trunks of clothes, some art supplies, and a small cottage I managed to procure on the outskirts of town. Be grateful that I am doing this much for you. I could just feed you to the proverbial wolves, were it not for Father's wishes and my sense of honor, which is one thing, among many, that you seem to be sorely lacking.

The younger man's face contorted into a snarl and he wrenched his view away from the equally seething artist and looked out the window.

The remaining minutes of the ride were tense and quiet. They shortly arrived at the auction house, where they both stepped out of the carriage, the younger sibling bearing a look of utter discontent, and the older sibling bore a miraculously sangfroid face, for he managed to reign in his emotions before arriving at their destination.

They entered the building and the auction began shortly after. After a few hours of Sesshomaru repeatedly clenching his fists, the sales were finished. He approached the short, dumpy proprietor to claim his profits, but Inuyasha deftly stepped in front of Sesshomaru in an attempt to speak to the manager first. Sesshomaru, however, would have none of that, and he firmly planted a foot in front of his presumptuous brother.

"Ahem. Sir, I will have to ask that you dispense the payment to me, not my imbecile of a brother. Not only was it Father's wish that I take care of finances," and at this, Sesshomaru shot a pointed stare at his fuming sibling," but it is my wish to pay off this moron's debts, lest he gamble away all of this money and incur the harpies' wrath upon the both of our heads, as well as those of our siblings."

The little proprietor pushed his circular glasses up the long bridge of his nose and replied, "Of course, sir. The wares were, after all, sold in your name. I also, pardon the intrusion, of course, do not wish such an unfortunate fate upon the both of you. If you would, sir, direct your man to me, I will make sure that the proper sum is allotted to you."

At this, Sesshomaru summoned his manservant, who was almost green in the flesh at the impertinence of Inuyasha. Upon his master's instruction, he hobbled after the proprietor to receive Sesshomaru's funds while his master and Inuyasha walked through the dreary rain and climbed back into their transport. As soon as he came hobbling back, Sesshomaru quietly instructed his man to drive to one of the gambling hovels, where a loan shark was sure to be lurking.

Shortly thereafter, Sesshomaru could feel the carriage lurch to a stop. As Inuyasha rose to exit the vehicle, Sesshomaru grabbed his sibling's arm, the long, slender fingers locked in a vice-like grip around the younger man's bicep. The manservant quickly skittered over to the side of the carriage and opened the door, whereupon he gave Sesshomaru the money from the auction.

At this, the younger man exclaimed, "Hey! It's my debt to pay, so it's my money by right, bastard! So hand the cash over. I'll take care of it!."

Sesshomaru snarled at his brother and quickly delivered a sharp blow to the back of the head, rendering the young man unconscious. The little manservant cackled as Sesshomaru gracefully exited the vehicle, giving no indication that he had just performed any unsavory action.

"That serves him right, the ungrateful whelp!" crowed the cackling little man.

"Jaken, cease your foolishness," Sesshomaru firmly stated. At this, the man immediately shut up. "Keep an eye on that moron until I return. It should not take long."

The money exchange was... uneventful. Sesshomaru walked in, politely laughed at the shady gambling master's bad jokes, declined a drink, and handed over the money to pay his brother's outstanding debts. Entirely unexpected but not unwelcome.

Upon his return to the carriage, Sesshomaru commanded to the driver to go to Inuyasha's favorite brothel, which happened to be nearby. Sesshomaru sat down in the dark carriage across from where his brother sat. He saw Inuyasha slumped over in his seat, still unconscious from the blow Sesshomaru dealt. He allowed himself a small smirk before settling back into the dismal mood for which he was notorious.

Upon arrival at the brothel, Inuyasha's limp form was pushed out of the carriage and onto the rough cobblestones, and Sesshomaru tossed a few coins at his brother before closing the carriage door, exacting revenge upon his brother for the humiliation, anxiety, and general wretchedness that he had endured that day.

Jaken, sensing his master's unease of mind, sought a place where Sesshomaru could relax and take his mind, albeit temporarily, off of the day's ordeals. He turned down a broad street and headed towards the only place that he could think of.

Meanwhile, Sesshomaru drummed his fingers along the carriage's velvet seat restlessly. His mind was racing. He now had only a meager amount of money in the bank. Money that he'd have to make last until he found steady employment.

He looked down at his restless hands. Once, these were hands softened by perfumed oils and a life of luxury. No more. Once these hands grasped in greeting countless aristocrats and representatives. No more. The enormity of his new circumstance hit him. He would now have to rely upon his own skill as an artist in order to earn a living. Amber-chestnut eyes narrowed, almost in defiance.

~~~~~~  
AN: Several things.  
1. Review! Please :3  
2. I know, I know. Kagome will be in the next chapter, I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die.  
3. Francs were the french currency before the Euro came along. Fun Fact of the day.


	3. Where the Dogs of Society Howl

A/N: This is my first fic, so I'd appreciate some reviews. :D

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with quite a few artistic liberties taken ^^;). Also, the story was inspired by the song _Tiny Dancer_ by Elton John, so the title and most of the chapters' titles will be lyrics from the song.

I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.  
~~~

_He looked down at his restless hands. Once, these were hands softened by perfumed oils and a life of luxury. No more. Once these hands grasped in greeting countless aristocrats and representatives. No more. The enormity of his new circumstance hit him. He would now have to rely upon his own skill as an artist in order to earn a living. Amber-chestnut eyes narrowed, almost in defiance.  
_~~~~

"Jaken!" bellowed the artist temporarily entombed in the vehicle. "Take me to a theatre. If my thoughts are to dwell upon hatred, let them direct the evil thoughts elsewhere than inward."

Jaken quickly steered the two carriage horses down a narrow alley and headed to the nearest show, wondering what could have possibly possessed his master to want to watch dancers, which were among the most hated of all creatures in Sesshomaru's mind. After all, it was common knowledge among the bourgeoisie and upper classes that Sesshomaru De Gas was a tall, but slightly built man with elegant limbs and eloquent mannerisms, entirely unlike the "fashionable male" of the era, and even unlike many of the women of the era, with their stocky builds and hardy limbs. Sesshomaru looked down upon most, but especially women, who almost always seemed to out-measure him in strength and ability.

Sesshomaru unhitched the curtain covering the window and watched the Paris nightlife pass by. He saw so many different people, and he hated them all. Tall men, fat men, slight girls, little boys, the ever-present hardy woman - all an insult to his existence. He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. How could people exist in such a disgusting fashion? Being social was merely for the those with no purpose in life. As an artist, Sesshomaru saw, when he looked out the small carriage window, multitudes of people who would prevent him from creating true art. Solitude was the best muse, and a state of isolation was the only way to truly live as an artist. Thusly, Sesshomaru decided he would live this one last night among the world of the living before granting his wish of lifelong solitude and abstinence from human activity.

It was then that Sesshomaru realized that his transport had stopped and that Jaken was looking at him with his ever-bulging dull green eyes and waiting patiently for him to exit the vehicle. Sesshomaru quickly did so, issuing no apology for delaying his man, before looking up at the dazzling lights outside of the theatre, like a series of lamps drawing in the disgusting insects from the streets.

Sesshomaru paid the admission fee and walked into the garish building. He sat down at the red-clothed table directly in font of the stage's catwalk. After ordering a glass of absinthe to alter the impending revolting experience, he thought to himself, "One last night amidst the low creatures, the abominably disgusting dancing women, the common proletariat, before I retire into my necessary seclusion."

The lights went down just as a server came to deliver his glass of absinthe. The artist gazed up at the stage, where several ballerinas pranced around the gaudy set pieces to lively music. Their taut muscles and painted china red lips thoroughly disgusted him. With every second that he watched the dancing-girls flit around like frilled butterflies, his ire grew, until, towards the end of the performance, Sesshomaru finally took a drink of his absinthe in an attempt to escape the infuriating reality. At that moment, the dancers began to dance off the stage. As he watched the girls seemingly flee from his sight, he hardly tasted the absinthe, which he accredited to his consuming rage. He directed his attentions inward to fume silently, and the red curtain dropped, the proverbial embodiment of Sesshomaru retreating into himself.

Suddenly, the lights went out, and a bright spotlight appeared upon the stage, accompanied by a roar of applause. The burgundy velvet curtain slowly ascended to reveal a tiny pale-green-clad woman standing in the light, her head bowed and arms wrapped around her torso in a delicate self-embrace. Sesshomaru was utterly unimpressed, both with the dancer and with the quality of the absinthe, of which he was feeling none of the effects... until she unfolded her body gracefully and lifted her small head to gaze at the audience, which was a dark sea of dimly glittering eyes.

Sesshomaru stiffened ."I should not be feeling the effects of the absinthe this abruptly..." but there she was...

...The Green Fairy.

He allowed his anger to dissipate as the drug took a hold of his consciousness and the Green Fairy-girl flitted lightly and softly around his vision, accompanied by a gentle piano caress that seemed to twirl airy fingers in his hair and wrapped ethereal tendrils of soothing calm around his chest.

The tiny fairy leaped, twirled, and sailed through the air like a feather; too perfect, too graceful, too, dare he even think it, let alone say it, beautiful to be real. Her glossy black hair was pulled into a bun, but soft loose wisps danced around her head like a halo with every flawless movement.

Just as Sesshomaru was about to commend the quality of the absinthe, he looked down at his table and saw, to his confusion, that his small glass of absinthe was utterly untouched, but his glass of water was sans a quarter of the liquid. His confusion turned to fury. Was he really so weak, so foolish, so incredibly wrong, as to assume that a woman could ever be beautiful, whether the beholder be sober or affected by some mind-altering substance? As Sesshomaru was about to lose his mind to darkness and anger, it happened.

The "green fairy" quickly fluttered to the very edge of the catwalk, where she stood on tiptoe and bend over into the crowd, directly in front of the immensely frowning Sesshomaru.

He was taken aback when this impossibly small woman suddenly appeared in his vision, but he paused for a moment. In what was mere seconds but felt like hours, Sesshomaru caught a view of her face; she had a soft, round, heart-shaped face, small pink rose petal mouth, delicately bridged button nose. He then came to her eyes. Rimmed with long, black lashes were piercing, ice-blue almond-shaped eyes, and they were gazing directly at him. As quick as she dipped into his vision, so she bowed out of it and slowly, sadly twirled to center stage.

Sesshomaru was... intrigued by this girl. She had tiny, lithe limbs, entirely unlike the average masculinely-muscled, animalesque dancer, the bane of Sesshomaru's existence. This small woman, Oriental fairy, was a woman below him. Weak, fragile, small... breakable.

As soon as the show ended, the curtain descended and the audience, a sea of black male formal-wear, erupted into raucous applause. Sesshomaru abruptly stood and made an expedient exit as the small dancer came out to take her final bow. He did not see her intrigued raindrop eyes follow him out the door.

Before he walked out of the foyer and into the dark, balmy street, Sesshomaru saw a poster advertising his little ballerina fairy, the same pair of striking blue-opal eyes staring back at him from the flat, chalky paper.

"Kagome, the Wonderous Oriental Beauty of Mme. Midou."

He made a mental note to inquire about the location of this studio of "Madame Midou" before stepping into his awaiting carriage.

A/N: Please review! Reviews are what's keeping me going, guys. Speaking of reviews, I'd like to thank these people:

PinkSlytherin and Guest (whoever you are): Thank you for the encouraging words!

Special thanks go out to Rachel: I humbly thank you for such kind words. That review almost made me want to cry out of happiness. I really can't thank you enough for such an inspiring review.

I apologize if the word "Oriental" offends anyone. I know the politically correct term would be "Asian" or whatever nationality the person would happen to be, but back in the 1800s and even 1900s such biased terms were used commonly and were not really seen as less-than-correct.


	4. This Feeling Inside

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with artistic liberties taken ^^;). Also, the story was inspired by the song _Tiny Dancer_ by Elton John.

I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.  
~~~~

The next morning, Sesshomaru awoke with a very strange disposition. He felt oddly… inspired. As he drew on his clothes, his hands were almost twitching in anticipation of the day's work to come. He ignored the feeling as he walked downstairs.

He quietly sat down at his small wooden table and ate his breakfast while Jaken babbled incessantly about meaningless trifles. After setting down his fork and knife, the artist quietly cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the startled little manservant.

"Jaken," Sesshomaru stated politely. "Are you acquainted with a 'Madame Midou's' ballet studio?" He deftly rose from his seat and walked over to the corner of the room which stored his canvases and various art media.

Jaken squawked in indignation. "Why, of course, my lord. I know of the place. What kind of driver would I be if I did not? I, however, do not understand why it is that you seek it, and why you are currently gathering your art materials. Are the two connected, sir?"

"Be bothered not by it, Jaken. At 11'o'clock sharp, I wish to depart for this studio. You are then free to do as you wish for the remainder of the day, for I predict that I will be spending all afternoon there." Sesshomaru looked up from his burlap pencil case and gazed passively at the little man before him.

The little man in question looked quite baffled and muttered a half-coherent thanks as Sesshomaru stepped out of the room.

At 11am sharp, the carriage left as planned. They traveled across town to a modestly-sized ballet studio with the words "Mme. Midou's Dance Studio" emblazoned across the top of the building in green paint.

Sesshomaru stepped out of the vehicle just as a small dark-haired woman was preparing to close the front door. He strode toward the woman with an air of coolness and dignity.

"Pardon me, madame. Would this be the dance studio of a 'Madame Midou?'" asked the artist smoothly.

"Why, yes, sir, this is the aforementioned place, and I am none other than Celestine Midou. How can be of service to you today?" the woman replied, tilting her head up to let her pale green eyes stare into Sesshomaru's face, her mouth contorted into a half-grimace of annoyance and impatience.

"Pardon the intrusion, but I came to inquire about the studio. May I sit in on a practice session?"

Sesshomaru motioned to the small sketchpad and canvas pencil bag he held in his right hand. "I am an artist and wish to study the human form from a new perspective. This may also gain popularity for your studio if my work sells for large sums." This wasn't a complete lie; he merely wished to see the tiny Oriental ballerina again, but whether it was out of simple intrigue or malice, he could not yet tell.

"I wish to sit in upon your class, madame," he restated with cool confidence. The short, middle-aged woman looked up at him speculatively, one dark eyebrow elegantly quirked.

The artist nimbly reached into his pocket and pulled out a 10 franc coin, which he promptly pressed into the hands of the woman before him, who was standing dumbly at the outrageous aplomb the man before her was displaying.

After looking around her to make sure that eyes were not prying, she quickly stuffed the coin into a side pocket on her apron and ushered Sesshomaru through the door. "The girls do not know that you are here, so be prepared if there is a bit of outrage," she offhandedly commented as she shut the door behind Sesshomaru, encasing them in the dusty, but well-furnished foyer.

Sesshomaru glanced around, suddenly wanting to kick himself for putting himself into a situation where he would be surrounded by several of the singular objects which were the very bane of his existence. However, it was too late to turn back, and he followed the short, bustling woman into the practice room, where several young girls were stretching their legs and idly chatting, their lithe bodies, just emerging from prepubescence, seemed to contort before him like pale vipers. Their large, child-like eyes (for several of the girls were just emerging from childhood) glinted like dark cesspools, and their small budding breasts seemed to Sesshomaru as pointed mounds of cancerous flesh. Every move of the waist, every inch of skin wrinkled or folded by movement, repulsed the artist further. At the sight of the seemingly furious imposing stranger, they suddenly hushed and unconsciously gathered together in a cluster of nervous twitching limbs.

Madame Midou cleared her throat and spoke. "This here is…"

"Sesshomaru De Gas," the artist calmly provided.

"…Monsieur Sesshomaru De Gas. M. Degas is an artist who wishes to study, and has kindly picked our studio to be his subject matter. Please, do not do anything to offend the gracious sir."

"Please, young mesdemoiselles," Sesshomaru stated smoothly, though inside, he was writhing in disgust, "please, just pretend that I am not here. I do not come to intrude. I am here merely to observe." And with that, Sesshomaru quietly sank down to sit upon the short black piano bench that Mme Midou had quickly procured during his short statement.

As the girls looked around nervously and eventually dispersed, Sesshomaru took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He was in a room seemingly made out of mirrors, and in the east wall was installed a series of ceiling-high French windows, which let the sunlight bounce off of the highly polished pink granite floor. There was a skylight in the ceiling, which ensured that no matter what the time of practice be, sunlight would be provided to dance by.

Mme Midou calmly interrupted his pensive observations to say, "Please pardon the wait. Practice does not begin until about 11:30, once Monsieur Laurent, the dance instructor arrives. This should happen any time in the next few minutes."

Sesshomaru nodded and was almost about to inquire about the presence, or lack thereof, of a certain Asian ballerina, but before the words left his lips, she appeared in the doorway. She walked across the room to her companions, seeming to not notice Sesshomaru's burning gaze directed toward her. Finally, she looked up after meticulously adjusting the red sash over her white-clad midsection, and for a brief moment, his topaz eyes met her aquamarine ones. He saw in her eyes a flicker of recognition as she registered his face, and her eyes widened marginally.

Meanwhile, Sesshomaru's thoughts were reeling. He could not distinguish his feelings for this young girl. Where he felt utter disgust and malcontent toward her teenaged colleagues, this feeling was somewhat absent in regards to her. Still gazing at her seemingly painted china-girl eyes, he could still not put his finger on the feeling. However, what he did know is that when he looked at her, he gained a sort of inspiration, like his hands were itching to create something.

The girl's eyes were still locked upon Sesshomaru's, and her lips slightly parted, as if she was going to say something but decided against it. Sesshomaru was so busy thinking of his sudden inspiration and of the fact that they were staring, that he didn't stop to think if they should be staring.

Neither of them noticed when Monsieur Laurent, the dance master, strode into the door until, upon seeing the short fairy dancer unstretched and entirely unprepared for the lesson, he firmly called, "Kagome! Mademoiselle, please begin your stretches. You have now set us behind schedule!"

This shocked the girl out of her reverie, and she startled and sputtered for a moment before managing to shakily call out, "Oui! I am sorry, Monsieur Laurent," and, without a second glance toward Sesshomaru, the tiny raven-haired ballerina named Kagome began her stretching routine while Monsieur Laurent stroked his thin dark mustache and barked out orders to the other dancers.

A/N: Sorry this story is progressing so slowly! I promise, it'll be worth it in the end.  
And I am also extremely sorry to those who were awaiting an update. It's been something lie 2 weeks since the last update. *insert various excuses that are legitimate but sound pathetic here*


	5. Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with artistic liberties taken ^^;). Also, the story was inspired by the song _Tiny Dancer_ by Elton John. I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.  
~~~~~

The day passed rather quickly, and Sesshomaru was extremely dissatisfied with the work accomplished during the day, or rather, the lack thereof. His mind was too busy vacillating between thoughts of hatred, curiosity, outrage, and restlessness to get anything done. He cared not for the revolting little brutish ballerinas flailing their disgusting limbs in the air. His eyes were solely upon this "Kagome" creature, and she was painfully aware of it.

Throughout the entire lesson, Kagome could feel the tall stranger's eyes boring into her as she stretched and went through the motions as dictated by the ever sharp-eyed Monsieur Laurent. She didn't know whether to be intrigued or extremely afraid, for the artist's eyes held what seemed to be a tempestuous malice, bridled only by the dark fringe of lashes and dull bags resting beneath his eyes.

"I am positive that he is the man in the front row from last night's performance. Maybe I displeased him? Perhaps I lingered too long, or maybe stared too long. Did I say something wrong? I don't understand why he seems so fierce, but I do not appreciate such emotions directed at me. Perhaps I'll try to be nicer and more approachable. M. Laurent would have my head if I made a bad impression upon a potential patron of the studio," Kagome thought as she fought to pay attention to her ballet instructor.

After enduring the entire lesson with this strange man's eyes following her every step, Kagome was relieved when M. Laurent called for the end of the day's practice. As she bent over to untie her ballet shoes, she saw this "Monsieur De Gas" rise from his piano bench and walk briskly in her direction. Within a few seconds, he had crossed the polished marble floor and was standing directly in front of her. He was standing so close that she could smell him. He smelled like… lavender and sage? It was almost a comforting scent, however strange it may be on a man. When she looked up from her bent-over position, she saw that the man looked extremely dissatisfied. "Oh no, is he going to chastise me? What have I done wrong?" she thought worriedly.

Sesshomaru looked down at this small woman as she delicately took the shoes off of her petite feet. When she looked up at him, her eyes showed surprise and a small amount of fear. "Where are you from, girl? Your eyes suggest that you are of Asiatic origin. Tell me." Sesshomaru spat out, only slightly aware of his caustic tone until her face twisted into an unhappy frown.

"Where I am from, Monsieur, one does not approach another person and rudely make demands of them," she said slowly, studying his face for any signs of explosive anger. All she got in response was a deadpan glare. With a small sigh, she began straightening the ribbons on her slippers and said, "I am from Japan. I lived in a town called Tokyo before I…" she hesitated a second, of which Sesshomaru made a mental note, before continuing, "I lived in Tokyo before I left for France. Perhaps you've heard of Tokyo?" She finished with a bright smile.

Now it was Sesshomaru's turn to hesitate. He was correct in assuming that she was an Asiatic. But Japanese? On one hand, she held this sort of… exoticness. On the other, she was a heathen of a nation full of infighting. "I do not know what sort of Eastern magic you have cast upon me, witch, but I demand that you cease it," he acerbically bit out.

Kagome was completely taken aback and gaped a moment before composing herself. "Witch? What are you talking about? You're the one that's been glaring all afternoon. If anyone should cease their behavior, I dare say it is you, sir. Good day, sir," she stated primly and turned her nose in the air as she swiftly began to walk away.

Without thinking, Sesshomaru reached out and grabbed her arm as she attempted to leave. She quickly turned back, eyes wide with fear and bewilderment. Sesshomaru's eyes widened with surprise at his unthinkable actions. He threw her arm back at her as if it was a venomous white snake. Foundering for words, he menacingly whispered, "You _will_ cease this behavior when I return tomorrow," and with that, he violently stormed off to collect his things and promptly left the building, leaving Kagome standing in the middle of the room, too stunned to do or say anything. This man truly puzzled her.

Sesshomaru was so angry that he didn't even bother calling for Jaken. He walked through the busy streets of Paris, stewing in his own anger and self-loathing. However, as he furiously walked, he slowly gained a sort of inspiration. He finally came to the base of a large tree and sat down, contemplating the day. "Why did I claim to be coming back tomorrow? Perhaps I have grown sloth in my comebacks. Well, nevermind. It is not as if I am obliged to return to that hovel," he thought to himself as he reclined against the base of the large maple and picked at the miniscule amount of dirt under his nails.

He then pulled out his pad of paper and a small stick of charcoal and began to absentmindedly sketch by the light of the rapidly sinking sun. He did not even remotely notice when the same young woman he brutally insulted earlier in the day cautiously walked past him on her way back to her own abode.

"Why, he looks as calm as a little baby," Kagome mentally remarked as she walked by, an empty grocery wicker basket hanging from her left arm. "Perhaps he will look up and recognize me…" Kagome thought, and she was perplexed to find that she fancied the idea of him acknowledging her. After a moment of standing in the middle of the _rue_ gawking, she realized that he probably would not recognize her dressed in her everyday green and white cotton gingham dress. As her stomach rumbled, she blushed and bustled off, leaving Sesshomaru to continue his drawing in the fading dusk and wishing somewhere deep in a little part of her fluttering heart that he would come after her.

Homygosh. Thanks to everyone for hanging in as long as you have! I've received so many comments on fanfic, deviantart, and Dokuga. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.


	6. Blue Eyes

Ermagersh, guys. I'm so sorry I haven't updated since November ;A; The holidays happened, then I started the spring semester, then I moved, and stuff got real crazy. It's still pretty crazy. Forgive me for being an awful authoress! And now, for those who've managed to stay with me, on with the show!

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with artistic liberties taken ^^;). Also, the story was inspired by the song _Tiny Dancer_ by Elton John. I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.

Previously: _"Perhaps he will look up and recognize me…" Kagome thought, and she was perplexed to find that she fancied the idea of him acknowledging her. After a moment of standing in the middle of the rue gawking, she realized that he probably would not recognize her dressed in her everyday green and white cotton gingham dress. As her stomach rumbled, she blushed and bustled off, leaving Sesshomaru to continue his drawing in the fading dusk and wishing somewhere deep in a little part of her fluttering heart that he would come after her."_

Kagome returned to her small rooms in the dingy hotel later that night after a trip to the nearby public bath house, empty wicker basket still in hand. She stepped over the unconscious, drooling form of a catatonic drunk, walked around several red light girls coercing some less-than-reputable characters into their beds for the night. After demurely and politely hustling past a slender, dark-haired woman with striking grey eyes, she reached and opened her squeaky wooden door. After lighting the cheap tallow candles in the large battered candelabra by the bed, she slumped down on the lumpy, grey mattress as her stomach gave a long, loud rumble. Lamenting her inability to buy even leftover bread crusts, she then sighed in exasperation as she began thinking about the stressful day and the abrupt and explosive introduction of Sesshomaru De Gas into her life. Laying a hand on her empty stomach, she closed her eyes, took a deep, relaxing breath, and then slowly sat up to reach for the old decorative boxwood comb laying on the table. Settling into her nightly routine, she delicately ran a finger over the faded cherry blossom pattern on the crest of the comb and silently bemoaned the fact that such a beautiful old ornamental comb was degraded and relegated to the dirty, simple, mundane task of the combing of hair. With a light twinkling sorrow in her eyes, Kagome remembered with clarity the morning her mother gave her this most precious object...

"_Kagome-chan, I have something I want to give to you. Wrapped up in my hand is an old comb. You know the sort, the kind that the pretty geishas wear in their hair. This one belonged to my great-great-grandmother, and now I'm giving it to you, my precious child. Keep it near to you, and let it remind you of home when you are far away and get too lonely. This comb will always keep you connected to your family here. Keep it safe, Kagome..."_

If she closed her eyes, Kagome could still remember the silent tears that streamed down her mother's face as she pressed the cloth-wrapped comb into her little hands and ushered her out the door where she was led away by a strange tall man. That dewy April morning, bathed in the early rays of the rising sun and cradled by the gentle hum of the nearby tide, Kagome, at the tender age of 8, was torn away from her family, never to see them again.

She turned the worn comb over in her small hand and set to the task of combing her unruly black hair while letting her thoughts drift to the enigmatic Monsieur De Gas. She couldn't quite place her finger upon it, but there was something about that man that she saw potential in; that is, of course, when she could overlook his rudeness, cruel words, and generally startling nature. Something inexplicably drew her to him, and she found it slightly unsettling. "Perhaps it's his aloof attitude that I wish to remedy. Or is it that frown always marring his sharp face and puckering those elven brows? Maybe it's those haunting ochre eyes that have captivated me, seemingly stripping me of all inhibitions, seeing through my mask, my clothes, my skin, down to my very core..." Opalescent black-rimmed eyes widened, and she shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts and invasive imagery with a slight blush upon her cheeks. "Perhaps he will return tomorrow to the studio and we can start anew. It seems we've both made bad impressions..." she thought as she finished twisting her hair into the braid she customarily slept in. Padding sleepily over to the small wooden crate that held her clothing, she disentangled herself from the green checkered gingham, and then pulled out a threadbare cotton nightgown and slipped into it before acquiescing to another night in the old, lumpy bed.

Just as she bent down to snuff out the candles, her throat painfully constricted, and she frantically reached for the nearby handkerchief as she began uncontrollably coughing. She crouched on the floor, balancing on the balls of her feet while her right hand was white-knuckled and grasping the corner of the small bedside table as her entire frame was rattled by the harsh coughing that was only slightly muffled by the handkerchief she'd balled up in front of her mouth. The candle flames flickered with the vibrations until Kagome's fit finally subsided. She shakily stood up and closed her eyes, centering herself, and then neatly folded the handkerchief before tossing it into the small pile of dirty clothes. A small trembling hand came up to wipe away the sweat beading upon her forehead before she blew out the candelabra with finality and laid down in the mottled grey bedding. Eyelids drooping, she drew the thin old blanket over her shoulders. With a weary sigh, she rolled over and resigned herself to another night of what had become routine suffering. That night, Kagome dreamt feverish dreams of stormy seas, perfumed combs, and angrily pensive artists.


	7. I Believe I'm Feeling Indisposed

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with artistic liberties taken ^^;). Also, the story was inspired by the song _Tiny Dancer_ by Elton John. I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.

Previously: "_With a weary sigh, she rolled over and resigned herself to another night of what had become routine suffering. That night, Kagome dreamt feverish dreams of stormy seas, perfumed combs, and angrily pensive artists."_

Kagome awoke the next morning to the sun peeking through the dusty window, the reflection turning her normally sky-blue eyes to a purplish haze with the balmy red dawn peeking over the hill. She yawned, careful not to disturb her irritated lungs, and stood up to stretch her thin arms in front of her. A drowsy sigh escaped her lips as she began changing her clothes and packing her ballet uniform into its customary bag to be toted around throughout the course of the day. The slowly awakening young woman paused as her brain cleared away the sleepy fog, and she realized that there was the possibility of seeing Monsieur De Gas again. Despite the fact that today was pay day, the thought of seeing that brute again had her feeling quite melancholy. She ignored the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat, for which she could come up with no reasonable explanation.

Due to the fact that the day was Friday, and Fridays were always scheduled to be Kagome's big shows, practice started at 8:30 instead of the usual 11:30, so Kagome left her dingy little flat shortly after 7'o'clock.

Meanwhile, Sesshomaru had hardly slept a wink the previous night, so he was out wandering restlessly, trying to find something to occupy his mind other than his trepidation and fear of returning to that ballet studio. He hated trepidation, and he hated fear, especially when they were coming from himself in such a foolish and unwarranted manner. He had been listlessly ambling around one of the slums when he rounded a corner and ran head-on into a short, pale woman with silky black hair and electrifying grey eyes. Upon looking at her face, Sesshomaru's mind ran off of the track of offering the customary apologies, but instead derailed and defaulted to anger. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.

"Where do you think you are going, witch? First, I must put up with your disgusting presence and insult to my existence which you displayed yesterday, and now you taint my person with your revolting touch? Your very existence offends me. You dare to touch me, you treacherous little bitch?" He finished with a scowl, which quickly melted into confusion when he saw the girl's face whom he had just verbally assaulted. He had thought that this little spitfire had been the little ballerina, Kagome, but this girl was certainly not her. Though her face and form were almost identical, their composure and attitudes were certainly most different.

Her thin black eyebrows were drawn together as her large slanted grey eyes seemingly glared lightning bolts at him. A slender hand snapped up to rest upon her hip, and her red-painted mouth opened in an expression of irate hostility. "Who the hell do you think you are? I have done nothing to you, and here you almost knock me into the street and then berate me like I'm some low-level slave?" Sesshomaru could smell the scent of opium wafting from her clothes, her breath, her hair.

He paused. This was certainly not little Kagome. She was obviously not even from the same country. This rude little minx was almost certainly from China, a smuggler of high-quality opium from the Far East. He took a long look at her eyes, which were slightly longer than he remembered Kagome's being, and her face was much more round than the little Japanese dancer. He came back to reality when she cleared her throat, clearly waiting for an apology from him, as she was entitled to.

Just as Sesshomaru began to bow his head and issue his not-so-heartfelt apologies, he heard a string of curses from a short distance away. He looked up just in time to see his brother, Inuyasha, wheel around the corner, tucking his shirt back into his pants, a long cigarette dangling from his lips. Upon seeing his elder brother, Inuyasha wrapped his arms around the little Chinese woman. "Hey, this bastard bothering you, Kikyou? Hey! Sesshomaru! You leave her alone, you hear? She's mine." Sesshomaru quickly turned around and walked away without saying a word as Kikyou disentangled herself from Inuyasha's arms with an expectant look on her face. He did not see Inuyasha hand over a wad of cash to the woman, who smirked and escorted him down a shaded alley.

Sesshomaru began briskly walking away, destination anywhere as long as it took him away from Inuyasha and his women of questionable repute. He found himself about a mile away from Madame Midou's studio, and in his state of mental disarray, he decided to walk toward it. After a couple of minutes walking down the cobbled road, he heard an overly cheerful shout, one far too bright for such an early time in the morning. He turned around to see none other than tiny little Kagome bustling toward him, package in hand, presumably carrying her dancing outfit.

"Bonjour, Monsieur De Gas!" the suddenly cheerful Kagome called as she caught up to walk next to the tall, gloomy artist. "How are you this morning? It's quite a lovely morning, is it not?" She beamed up at him, though inside her mind, fear was running rampant through her thoughts. She thought he heard him mutter, "It is far too early for such trouble," but she decided to pay no mind.

"I see that you are heading toward the studio, sir? Are you returning today? I do hope you are, for I feel that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot as it were," she babbled, stopping with a huge bright smile to extend her hand in a conciliatory handshake. However, seconds later when she cracked open one eye, she saw to her dismay that Sesshomaru had not stopped at all. In fact, it appeared that he was steadfastly ignoring her. With a small sigh, she jogged back to his side. "I'm going to be performing the headline act tonight at the theatre. Would you like to attend? Perhaps we could start anew!"

Sesshomaru continued walking forward, and without so much as sparing a glance in her direction, he tonelessly bit out, "There are a multitude of things that I would rather partake in, such as watching grass grow, or the cleaning of chamber pots, or-"

"Okay, I get it! You certainly do not have to be so rude about it, you know," Kagome replied somewhat sullenly before she tilted her head high and walked ahead of him to the studio.

Sesshomaru sighed as he rummaged around in his knapsack for his charcoal pencils. Despite the headache blooming in the center of his skull, he was bound and determined to accomplish _something_ today. However, so far, the day was not seeming too promising.

Thank you so much, everybody on dA, Dokuga, and on FF, for the lovely reviews! I most definitely appreciate them! :'D


	8. Someone Saved My Life Tonight

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with artistic liberties taken ). Also, the story was inspired by the song Tiny Dancer by Elton John. I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.

**THIS CHAPTER HAS A TRIGGER WARNING.**

Previously: _Sesshomaru sighed as he rummaged around in his knapsack for his charcoal pencils. Despite the headache blooming in the center of his skull, he was bound and determined to accomplish something today. However, so far, the day was not seeming too promising._

As it were, Sesshomaru did indeed follow Kagome to her dance studio that serene April morning, and Kagome did indeed go through her rigorous practices as directed by Monsieur Laurent, his violet eyes ever-watchful for any lack of concentration or err in form. However, today was slightly different than the previous. There was a noticeable tension, a sort of wild, uncertain excitement in the air, with a gratuitous amount seeming to emanate from Kagome. Most of the other girls seemed euphoric, several high-pitched squeals and giggles echoed throughout the practice room accompanied by the fluttering of small arms and the stretching of small, childlike lips in enthusiastic smiles. Sesshomaru pulled out his charcoal and paper pad and began to sketch. Since Kagome was far too fidgety, far too nervous, he decided to sketch her contemptible colleagues. "Not that I wanted to draw that abhorrent little hussy anyway..." he thought to himself grouchily as he crassly delineated the forms of the hard, brutish ballerinas he saw.

About halfway through the allotted practice time, a loud bang was heard as the door to the pink-floored practice room was thrown open. The tall man who walked through flashed a brilliant sapphire-eyed smile at the group of little dancers, who tittered and blushed like the young girls they were. As his lithe limbs propelled him across the sparkling, sun-lit floor, his black ponytail swayed behind him, and he headed in the direction of little Kagome, whose attention he had caught. "Why, hello there Kagome. It's a fine morning we're having, is it not?" he casually made small talk as Kagome stood up straight to look him in the eye.

"Monsieur Dubois, you must stay in character if we are to complete this show correctly," Kagome admonished with a smirk, one soft eyebrow quirked in a questioning but humorous arch.

With a dramatic flourish, the tall, handsome young man said, "Ah, please, for the thousandth time, call me Koga, my dear. And if you insist, _ma petite Sylphide_, we shall begin our rehearsal." He finished with an elegant bow, causing Kagome to chuckle and walk toward him. "Ah, ah," Koga in turn admonished. "If _you_ do not cease your giggling and keep in character, however shall we complete the show correctly? All of the nice patrons at the Théâtre de la Sacré Coeur will laugh and scorn our troupe. You do not want that, now do you, _ma petite Sylphide_?" he mockingly scolded her with a cheeky smirk. With a roll of her eyes, Kagome leapt into his arms and they began their final rehearsal for the big show later that evening.

Meanwhile, Sesshomaru's charcoal-dusted fingers stopped sketching as he gazed at the star pair of dancers: Kagome and this Koga person. They leapt, turned, bowed en pointe, and fluttered, and Sesshomaru oddly felt his anger rising with every delicate brush of Kogas fingers against her arms, every time he delicately and lovingly lifted her into the air. With a huff and flare of his nostrils, the artist shoved his drawings into the burlap sack, and, with a sharp glare at the back of Koga's oblivious head, turned and left the studio in a rage. He did not see Kagome surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder after him.

Sesshomaru walked to blow off some steam, however, the reason for his ire was completely unknown to him. Kagome was not his property. He had no emotional attachment to her, nor her to him. He was mulling over this predicament when he found himself back at his small flat at around 3pm. He sat down in the lush armchair, one of the few remaining relics from his father's old estate, eyes stormy and unobservant, and thought to himself, "Ah, perhaps it is because he is so obviously and shamelessly using her as an outlet for his lust. Merely looking at the fool, one can see that the stupid little boy has some sort of feelings for the whore." With an amused chuckle, he remembered her reactions to all of Koga's advances during the time that he'd stayed to watch the rehearsal. "The little slut does not even love him. He is merely a friend, a tool to that harlot. This boy may as well be throwing his feelings, spilling his dreams, his seed, his emotion, into an empty garbage can." He let out another chortle as he called for Jaken to prepare the carriage and slipped into his formalwear.

Later that evening, Sesshomaru stepped out of his carriage and in front of the Théâtre de la Sacré Coeur. He paid the entrance fee, stepped inside, and waited for the show to start. He tried to ignore the hustle, bustle, clamor, and bawdy whispering from the rest of the audience- the cosmetic-caked women with their paste jewels and the lecherous men with secrets glistening in their eyes.

The show was fairly uneventful. Through his eyes, Kagome, dressed as some woodland fairy, flailed her limbs onstage. Koga flailed after her. At least Kagome was graceful in her flailing. She _was_ playing a fairy after all, so he supposed that she wasn't a _total_ failure. After the final bow and the emptying of the theater, Sesshomaru stayed to enjoy a couple of glasses of red wine.

Kagome, once the show was over and she had been paid, hurried to the market to catch a few vendors before they closed shop. After picking up a couple of loaves of bread and some butter, she ran back to her hotel room in the fading dusk so that she could pay the landlord. "Ooh, I do hope he hasn't decided to evict me. The payment for the month is due today, so technically I have until midnight to pay him, right?" Her thoughts continued down a worried and progressively more dim path until she reached the front door of the establishment. She knocked on the management's door.

Almost immediately, a man exited the office, hand extended, expecting the month's payment for housing. "Monsieur Boucher, I am so sorry that I am late, but I have this month's payment for you!" Kagome explained, slightly out of breath from her sprint across town. She handed over a wad of money, all of, with the exception she used to buy her meager rations still tucked in a cloth under her arm, the money that she had been given for the month for her performances. The man took the money and looked over wire-rimmed glasses, counting with a slight dirty smirk on his face. Kagome nervously shifted from foot to foot, eager to get back to her room and away from her landlord, who had always given her a bad feeling in the pit of her gut.

The dark-haired man looked up at her and grinned. "Thank you, Kagome. If I may ask, could you follow me outside for a moment?" Kagome cocked her head to the side in confusion, but agreed and followed him out the side door and into the narrow alley next to the hotel. She looked warily for the degenerates who usually loitered around the dark alleys in this slum, but saw none. That new opium den next door sure had a way of cleaning up the streets, even though it was trading one evil for another. As she followed him down the alley, she was terrified that he was going to evict her. She needed this hotel, however trashy it was, no matter what she paid for it. The roof over her head was probably the only thing keeping her alive. She nervously gulped.

Boucher stopped and turned around to face the jumpy girl and looked down at her. "Kagome, I'm afraid this isn't enough. We've had to raise our prices, you see, with all of this... ahem... increased tourism in the area," Kagome was confounded and astounded by the blatant lie. He continued regardless. "You know," he whispered as he walked toward her in the darkness, backing her up against the grimy bricks of the hotel, "there are other ways to pay, _ma.." _His chest lightly brushed hers. "_Petite..." _He bent so his cheek grazed hers, causing her to turn her head as panic welled up in her chest. She could feel him pause, and, despite her sheer terror, turned her head to look at his face. Dark red-brown eyes seemingly glowed with some unnameable emotion that caused the blood to drain from Kagome's face.

"..._Cherie." _A hand slithered up her abdomen to grab her left breast through the fabric of her shirt. She whimpered, and the bread tucked under her arm fell with a dull thud onto the ground. Tears came to her eyes, and she whipped her head around in a panic, trying to find anyone, any sound, any light that might indicate the presence of another human. "It would be pointless to scream, my dear. You know this, mm?" he said as he nuzzled her cheek. She could feel his hot sticky breath on her neck as he reached back to free her hair from their pins and buried his fingers until he gripped the roots near her scalp. Her heart felt as if it would burst from her chest as hot tears streamed down her face and her whimpers turned into cries. Her body was completely paralyzed with utter fear.

"If I tell him to stop, he'll evict me. He'll evict me. Oh, God, why? He's going to evict me. Why? WHY?!" she repeated in her head like a mantra.

The impassioned man temporarily disentangled his hand from her hair to press it rigidly against her chest, fingers digging into her collarbone, holding her steadfast against the wall as he slowly knelt down to grab the hem of her skirts. In the bat of an eyelash, his face was back up to eye level, holding her bunched skirts in his hand. The hand pressing against her chest returned to angrily knot in her hair, pulling her head back. "You know," he huskily groaned, "I've always wondered what you kept under these skirts." He forced a hand between her legs and yanked down her drawers to bury his fingers in her dark curls, and simultaneously dragged his tongue up her neck, leaving behind a hot trail of putrescence. Kagome's cries turned into ragged sobs.

His long, spindly fingers forced their way into the sobbing girl's unwilling folds, and she let out an ear-spitting shriek. At that moment, a silhouette turned around the corner and approached the pair. Kagome threw herself off of the wall as the man approached Boucher. The cloudy skies cleared for a moment, and by the moonlight, Kagome could see the face of Sesshomaru De Gas looking at her land lord with an arched eyebrow. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small wad of cash, which he tossed at the frustrated man, who promptly pocketed the cash and retreated back into the building with a leer.

Sesshomaru then turned to Kagome, who was pitifully whimpering and clutching her chest. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she looked up at him with a look of horror and shock, as if she had forgotten that he had been there. He gave her a deadpan look, and she burst into simultaneous tears and coughing, bending over to hide her shame, her fear, her hacking. His eyes sought hers, and with a shudder and wail, her bloodshot dewdrop eyes widened in terror, and she fled around the corner to her front door. He looked down and saw a small splatter of blood upon the ground.

**Thank you all for the great reviews! Here's a guide to pronunciation: De Gas= Duh GAW. Dubois= doo BWAH. Laurent= lo RAUN. Midou= mi DOO. Boucher= boo SHAY.**  
**Honestly, I have no clue if there were any theaters near Montmartre, but since the Sacre Coeur Basilica didn't go up until a few years after this story, I decided to name a theater after it's place. We'll just pretend it was there and then they put the basilica on top of it ^_^;**

**Also, the ballet that they were performing was La Sylphide (not to be confused with Les Sylphides). 'Tis quite a lovely ballet. Kagome and Koga play the star-crossed lovers, the Sylphide (fairy) and James.**


	9. In the End Nobody Wins

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with artistic liberties taken ). Also, the story was inspired by the song Tiny Dancer by Elton John. I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.

Previously: _"He gave her a deadpan look, and she burst into simultaneous tears and coughing, bending over to hide her shame, her fear, her hacking. His eyes sought hers, and with a shudder and wail, her bloodshot dewdrop eyes widened in terror, and she fled around the corner to her front door. He looked down and saw a small splatter of blood upon the ground."_

Warning: mature content and language.

After the scene he came upon that cloudy night, he decided to follow Kagome into the building, but instead of knocking upon the dingy wooden door that masked her handkerchief-muffled sobs, he walked to the front desk, behind which the greedy Boucher was thumbing through some bills and tucking them into his pockets. Sesshomaru cleared his throat, causing Boucher to expressionlessly look up and impatiently nod in the direction of a wooden sign propped up on the right side of the old desk. Sesshomaru pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket and squinted at the crudely-made sign. After a minute of intense concentration, he was able to tell that it was a poorly-constructed list of room prices written in awkward, illiterate French. A quick slip into his pocket produced a few bills to pay for a night at the shoddy hotel.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." Sesshomaru thought to himself grimly as he was handed they key to room 2 by a skeptical Boucher, who seemed completely unfazed by his being recently caught mid-rape by the stranger before him. He walked briskly over to his room and shut the door after lighting the kerosene lamp, all the time wondering what possessed him to act so rashly. "This girl is nothing to me. Not my wife, not my sister or mother, not my fiancee..." He sat down upon the creaky bed, and after a thorough check for lice, folded his hands behind his head, laid down, and continued his train of thought. "Ah, perhaps it is some sort of latent paternal feelings rising to the surface. God knows I'm a few years short of being old enough to be her father. It may be just some idiotic response that I can prevent in the future. Yes, it must be that..."

His thoughts drifted and faded to a dull hum, and he came back to reality. A rhythmic creaking was echoing across the space, coming from the room to the right of Sesshomaru's. He closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation as low moans traveled across the room to burrow in his ears. "It figures..." he thought before a gravelly male voice growled through the apparently paper-thin wall.

"You like that, bitch?" Grunting and heavy, breathy sighs drifted through. Sesshomaru pinched the bridge of his nose irritably.

"You are a whore. A dirty fucking slut, and you deserve to be used like the piece of trash that you are, don't you?" The creaking of the bed increased in rhythm, and the female's soft moaning turned into extremely loud, wanton cries.

Sesshomaru covered his eyes with his forearm and took deep, calming breaths as he attempted to reign in his rapidly rising desire to burn the hotel down in a rage.

An entirely different burning was happening in the room next door as a long groan and a keen shrill rang through the air, signalling the lewd couple's long-due climax. In the dead silent few seconds following the outburst of noise, Sesshomaru could hear a soft sniffling, and he realized that in the room to the left of his own lay the little abused Kagome. He rolled across his bed and put his ear against the wall in a child-like manner and confirmed that it was indeed the tiny ballerina, as the trembling, gurgling cries were punctuated by a harsh cough.

As quickly as the silence started, it abruptly ended as a loud slap followed by an alarmed cry startled Sesshomaru, and he rolled back over to his previous spot on the bed as the action in the room to the right of his started anew. "You answer me when I'm talking to you, whore!" Another slap followed the first. A creak signaled that the male roughly got off of the old bed.

"Where's my money?" the female voice became hard. A third slap followed by a cry of pain was heard.

"I don't have to pay you, you low gutter rat. You are fucking below me, as well you should be. Soon, you'll learn, Kikyou, that I do what I want, when I want, and I get what I want at whatever price that I want. I'll be back tomorrow, so clean yourself up, cunt." Kikyou... that name sounded absurdly familiar to Sesshomaru, and he began picking his brain in the compartment that held meaningless and unimportant people's names.

The female once again voiced herself as the door slammed, announcing that the male had left the room. "Inuyasha!" She angrily shrieked.

Inuyasha...

Inuyasha.

Sesshomaru slapped his palm against his forehead at the idiocy of both himself and his callous younger brother. He wasn't quite sure how the night could get any worse, other than the possibility of spontaneous combustion. In the silence since his moronic brother left, he could once again hear Kagome's continuing crying. The incessant sniffling and hiccups grated upon his nerves, and his ire and annoyance rose dangerously.

Just as Sesshomaru was preparing to jump off the bed and stomp angrily over to Kagome's room, he heard a second keening wail coming from the other side of his room as Kikyou apparently broke down into blubbering tears and threw herself back onto the shabby bed, which groaned and screeched loudly in protest.

With a huff of resentment and a resigned sigh, Sesshomaru laid back down heavily upon the old bed, releasing a puff of questionable odor into the air. With a sour look upon his face, he placed his glasses upon the rickety bedside table and blew out the flickering kerosene lamp. Closing his eyes in annoyance, he surrendered himself to what he predicted to be an awful evening. That chilly summer night, Sesshomaru fell asleep to a symphony of weeping.

Thank you all SO much for the lovely reviews! They're really keeping my motivation up! :D


	10. Looking for a New Beginning

This fic is very loosely based upon the life of Edgar Degas (with artistic liberties taken ). Also, the story was inspired by the song Tiny Dancer by Elton John. I do not own Tiny Dancer or Inuyasha. The material presented in this piece belongs to their respective owners. Not me.  
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Previously: _Closing his eyes in annoyance, he surrendered himself to what he predicted to be an awful evening. That chilly summer night, Sesshomaru fell asleep to a symphony of weeping._

The next morning, Sesshomaru awoke from his fitful slumber to the happy chirping of birds outside of his small, grime-encrusted window. With a sigh, he sat up and adjusted his eyes to the blurry sunlight that bored into his retinas. He slowly put his shoes on and returned his reading glasses to his pocket.

"Why exactly did I agree to spend the night here...? It is not as if I rectified the situation..." He repressed a mental shudder at the memory of the landlord lewdly assaulting Kagome the previous night. A disgusting whore she may be, a cancer of society, but rape just did not sit well with the ill-tempered artist.

Although he was loath to touch the old, moldy door, he pushed it open and stepped out. The windows in the reception area were slightly cleaner than those of the hotel room, so sunlight poured inside to fill the room. Judging by the sun's position and the angles of the shadows being cast, Sesshomaru guessed it to be approximately 9 in the morning. "That insufferable woman seems like the type to awaken before dawn, so where is she...?" he wondered, cautiously looking to his sides and finding neither Kagome nor the landlord, Boucher. His eyelids fell to half-mast as he realized with exasperation that it was quite plausible that the foul miscreant could be once more harassing Kagome, perhaps even in her own bed. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation as he turned to face the door to Kagome's chamber.

"If I once again have to pull that degenerate off of her, I swear..." he muttered under his breath as he rapped on the door and found it unlocked, as it swung open in a wide arc. Left eyebrow arching questioningly, Sesshomaru took the liberty of stepping into Kagome's personal chamber, despite the fact that he could detect no trace of the presence of Boucher in the small room. His eyes slid to the petite form of the sleeping Kagome.

At that moment, Sesshomaru realized just how young the little dancer really was. "Why, she's a mere child," he thought with a grimace, and a pang of guilt, of which the source was unknown to him, ripped through his gut.

Her dark hair was splayed across the pillow in perfect ebony waves, and her tiny left hand, which had been thrown haphazardly above her head some time during her sleep, twitched slightly, and she softly sighed. Sesshomaru stepped near the bedside and quietly observed her.

Her small mouth was slightly agape, revealing supple pink lips shaped into a small "o." Dark eyelashes rested softly upon high cheekbones like a fringe of delicate black lace. Soft cheeks, still slightly round from youth, reflected a stray beam of light from its sun-kissed surface. Sesshomaru's eyes traveled south of her face and saw the mottled tattered blanket, having caught the hem of her white nightgown, hitched up to reveal scrawny, taught, pale-cream legs. "So young," his thoughts trailed off as his view strayed up her abdomen to rest upon her perky breasts, which were standing at attention at the slightly chilly draft that wafted in through the open door. "Far too young..."

He stepped closer to her bed until his shins pressed against the bedding. Her brilliant blue eyes... how could they look so similar to those of everyone else when closed, but so very different when open and observantly gazing at the world around her? He bent over to get a closer look at her face, particularly those closed eyes. Solely for artistic purposes, of course.

At the moment Sesshomaru's face came to hover above her own, her eyes sleepily drifted open. Sesshomaru froze. Hard topaz clashed with soft opal for a moment, and she blinked at him tiredly. And then she became fully awake and aware of her surroundings and situation. Her slanted eyes flew wide open, and she shrieked directly in Sesshomaru's face. Limbs flailed wildly in alarm, causing her body to become entangled in the twisted blanket.

Clarity settled over her features, and it was rapidly followed by outrage. Cold, hard eyes blazed with anger like the hottest flames of Hades. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded incredulously, pulling the blanket up to her chest in a feeble attempt at modesty. Her small hands, however, betrayed her fear, and they trembled like a leaf shuddering under the force of the wind. At that instant, Sesshomaru saw how small, how fragile, how breakable she really was.

"I was merely... observing," Sesshomaru lied, clasping his hands behind his back and tilting his head in an air of superiority and arrogance. His eyes narrowed, and he glared down at her with contempt, much like a petulant child that had been caught stealing a honey cake from the kitchen counter.

Kagome's mouth fell open in disbelief. "You were 'observing me,' so you felt that it was acceptable for you to break into my room and watch me sleep?! I never took you for such a dirty old man, Monsieur De Gas," she practically shouted at him as her hands worried and wrung and wound themselves further into the tangled bedding. At the words "dirty old man," Sesshomaru's eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes became dangerous dark-rimmed slits. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown leather wallet, all the time maintaining eye contact with the frightened and fuming Kagome.

"Get out! I don't want your money. If you want that_, _then find a prostitute next door." She was shaking her head vigorously and pointing enthusiastically at the door as if she was having some manner of hysterical fit. In fact, Sesshomaru was beginning to wonder if she was mentally sound at all.

"You misunderstand. Let me talk, girl," Sesshomaru demanded as he pulled a few bills from the wallet in his hand. "Take this and buy yourself some food. You dropped your loaf of bread last night, did you not? I do not see any more food around this room." Kagome's eyes widened, and the rage disappeared from her face, all thoughts of Sesshomaru's intrusion of her privacy completely forgotten. "Also," he continued regally as he placed the money on the bedside table before returning his wallet to his pocket," before next month's rent is due, you will be moving all of your possessions into my residence. You clearly are in need of a guardian." He stepped back to gauge Kagome's reaction to that statement; not that it mattered, for as far as the man was concerned, his word was gospel and would be obeyed without question.

Kagome's reception of the proposition, which was in all actuality a demand, did not fail to please him. Her face became still as stone and betrayed no emotion. However, her voice was full of polite, yet barely-contained wrath. "Thank you, monsieur, but I am a grown woman and can take care of myself." She disentangled herself from her blanket and walked over to stand in front of the imposing artist, all thought or pretense of modesty forgotten in her anger. "I appreciate the offer, and I am deeply in debt to you for your actions last night, but-"

"Ah, if you are in debt to me," Sesshomaru interrupted, looking down at the incensed female before him, "then you will repay me by extracting yourself from this situation. For all I know, and predict, you may have deserved what occurred last night, but everyone deserves a proper Christian burial, even a heaven such as yourself." At the blatant insults and assumptions, Kagome huffed and prepared to launch on a verbal tirade, but Sesshomaru once again cut her off with a burning look and a hand motion. "If I had left you last night, your body would have been rotting in a pile of refuse somewhere." He spoke coldly, and Kagome visibly deflated and foundered under the pressure of the older man's words.

"_Mais,_ it would not be proper for me to take advantage of such an offer, for I have no way to repay you. Unless..." she trailed off, eyes widening in fear and sudden panic as she swiftly began retreating backward until the backs of her legs hit the bedside table.

Sesshomaru laughed a hard, severe laugh. "You have no need to fear, little _papillon_. I will not, nor do I have any desire whatsoever, to exact such a toll from you. You will live in my house, and for room and board, you will cook and clean for me. You will also spend a minimum of 3 hours per week aiding my studies. Is this clear?" His voice brooked no argument, and an expectant look made Kagome wilt further in shame and guilt.

"I suppose I have no choice, do I? Thank you, monsieur, for your overwhelming generosity," she murmured as she cast down her eyes in compliance and deference. Sesshomaru found himself, in the back of his mind, enjoying this obsequious side of the young dancer. She was so easily conquered...

He scoffed and averted his eyes. "Then it is settled. A fortnight from today, a carriage will arrive shortly after dawn to receive you and your possessions," He had turned to exit the room when a petite hand flew forward to catch his own much larger one, her thin fingers wrapping around his own in a warm embrace.

"_Vraiment, _Monsieur De Gas, thank you so much." Kagome gushed, tears glistening in her bright eyes.

With a roll of his eyes, he removed her hand from his person and walked through the open door. Even so early in the agreement, Sesshomaru was beginning to regret his decision.  
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Merci! Merci beaucoup (thank you very much!) for the reviews and support I've received for this fic 3

Mais: but  
papillon: butterfly (I figured that it was an apt way to describe Kagome, ne?)

Vraiment: truly


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